


the secret diary of harriet osborn

by byronicmaiden



Series: american daughter [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Child Abuse, Childhood, Diary/Journal, F/F, F/M, Genderswap, Gothic, Haunted Houses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, female Harry Osborn - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: this is harriet osborn.she is the girl every girl wants to be.she is the luckiest girl in the world.she is the goblins’ daughter.she is the goblin.
Relationships: Harriet Osborn/Liz Allan, Harriet Osborn/Peter Parker, Harry Osborn/Gwen Stacy, Harry Osborn/Liz Allan, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, Olivia Octavius/May Parker
Series: american daughter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601941
Kudos: 11





	1. happy birthday to me

_October 30th, 2011_  
⠀  
Dear Diary,  
My name is Harriet Theodora Osborn, and as of today, I am officially ten years old! Can you believe it? I felt like it’d be foreverrrr before I hit double digits. Pretty soon I’ll be starting middle school, which is supposed to prepare me for high school, and I’m SO excited for that!  
⠀  
Okay, so, what to say...well, it’s pretty late right now, and I’m supposed to be asleep, but I’m so excited for tomorrow. Can you guess why? Because tomorrow is Halloween! Can you believe how lucky I am to be born the day before Halloween? It’s my favorite holiday, and it seems like around here, more people care about it being my birthday than it being Halloween– which I’m definitely not complaining about. Everyone always makes a huge deal out of my birthday and almost all of Daddy’s employees give me some sort of present or card. I had a party yesterday, with all my friends from school, and now, it’s like I get to celebrate all over again, and get all new presents. This diary was given to me by one of my favorite people in the world: her name is Dr. Olivia Octavius, and she works for my dad and helped him make his company as successful as it is. He used to have another scientist but he got in trouble and had to go away. Doesn’t really matter because he was boring anyways. I guess most scientists are probably pretty boring, but Olivia isn’t, she’s so cool and weird and always knows cool facts about random stuff. She comes over to our house all the time, mostly to work with my dad, but when she has a break she’ll hang out with me. She’s really nice and always hugs me goodbye when she leaves. She said she gave me this diary so I’d have a place to voice my thoughts. When she said that, I heard my dad say something like “Good! Maybe you can write all your questions in there instead of asking me.” He was just kidding, because I do ask a lot of questions, and I know he’s busy and doesn’t have time to answer all of them. I know he didn’t really mean anything by it, because he was smiling when he said it, and I just giggled along.  
⠀  
I got a lot of other beautiful presents too, but my other favorite was from another scientist at the company, which is a pretty odd coincidence. His name is Dr. Curt Connors and I don’t really know what he does but I know he’s less important than Olivia.  
⠀  
So, my nanny took me to my dads office because everyone really wanted to give me my presents (side note- I know the only reason they give me so many presents is because they want my dads attention, but honestly, I don’t mind, because I still get to be the center of attention and everyone buys me something pretty). We showed up in the middle of a meeting, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I ran into the meeting room and ran over to my daddy, who just stared at me for a few seconds, like he’d forgotten I was going to show up, or like he didn’t even know who I was. Then, he blinked at me and smiled, and– you won’t believe this– he picked me up and sat me on his lap, and said, “Everyone, you all know my daughter Harriet, and as you all know as well, it is her birthday today.” He didn’t even have to tell them to give me my presents, they just knew what to do.  
⠀  
Anyways, Doctor Connors had to go out to his car to get my present, and my dad held me on his lap the whole time. I felt so special, like I was the only thing that mattered, like I was the center of his whole world.  
⠀  
Doctor Connors came back and he was holding a small carrier covered with a square of pink cloth, because pink is my favorite color. He pulled off the cloth with a flourish and sat a small metal cage in front of me; I peered inside, and saw a small reptile scampering around, looking up at me with narrow eyes that seemed very lonely.  
⠀  
“He’s a Pogona, or a Bearded Dragon,” said Doctor Connors, opening the cage and letting the lizard climb out, walk across the linoleum and over to me. “Your father told me you always wanted a pet, but I know he doesn’t like anything with fur–“ at this point, he looked at my dad with knowing eyes, who responded by nodding– “So I thought this would be a great loophole. They’re basically the same as a cat, just less fluffy.”  
⠀  
I love my little lizard so much. I wanted to pick him up and hold him, but Doctor Connors said I should let him get used to me before handling him, which I suppose is fair. If I was suddenly given to some stranger, I guess I wouldn’t want them grabbing me all the time either. I haven’t decided what to name him yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.  
⠀  
It’s getting late, and I’m getting tired, and I’m afraid if I stay up any later, dad will come up and yell at me, which I really don’t want. I guess I better get to sleep. But I’m just so excited for tomorrow! Me, Gwen and Liz are going Trick-or-Treating in Liz’s neighborhood, and she said she has a special Halloween/Birthday present for me. Can you believe it? I’m so happy I can barely stay still. I don’t understand how anyone could be sad when such beautiful things exist in life, and even more, such simple things too! Like your birthday, or your favorite holiday, or sitting on your dads lap while everyone stares at you and tells you you’re the most perfect, most special girl ever. Everyone is so nice to me. I think I must be the happiest, luckiest girl in the whole world.


	2. trick or treat

_October 31st, 2011_  
⠀  
My emotions are such a mess right now. I’ve locked myself in Liz’s bathroom, my hair still damp, the tile so cold against my bare legs.  
⠀  
Okay, let me start at the top. It’s a Monday, the start of the week. Normally I hate Monday’s, but today, I was in a great mood. School was uneventful, like it always is. Some people wished me a belated Happy Birthday or a Happy Halloween, and I talked to Liz about tonight’s plans every chance I got. My teacher is always fussing at us for talking when we shouldn’t, but like, can you blame us today? Anyways, I got to Liz’s neighborhood around six, the sun still hanging low in the sky, casting a beautiful haze of syrupy orange across the green lawns. This neighborhood is one of my favorite places. It’s not like the apartment in the city, which is too busy and constantly invaded by people, or the manor, which has the exact opposite problem, because it’s buried so deep in the woods I don’t think anyone could find it if they tried, and I guess that’s kinda the point. Liz’s neighborhood– it’s different. It’s so pretty and lively, and it’s full of people, but it’s also still at the same time. People stay to themselves, but they’ll help if they need. I just think that’s really nice. It’s perfect here.  
⠀  
So, me, Gwen, and Liz were skipping down the sidewalk, them both a little behind me as I zipped ahead on my roller-skates, which I always wear. We wanted to match our costumes this year, and I didn’t really know any costume ideas that involved roller skates, so this year, I’m Ariel on roller skates. Ariel is my favorite princess, probably just because everyone says I look like her, and she wears my favorite colors. Gwen is Sleeping Beauty, and Liz is Snow White. I bought her a white wig, to contrast with her beautiful dark complexion, as opposed to having dark hair and a light complexion. We all look so beautiful, we three princesses, shiny and glittered and perfect, coasting through the neighborhood like we own the place. Liz’s house is one of the biggest on the block, so everyone knows who she is, and everyone loves her. Like, they really love her, they don’t just pretend to like they do with me. Same with Gwen. Everyone likes them more than me...they’re nicer and prettier and they don’t have the negative thoughts I have. I have to stop thinking these things.  
⠀  
As we made our way down the street, neon pumpkins filled with candy in hand, I felt a cold spray of water drench my face, and the sound of taunting laughter filled my ears. We all spun around to see Flash Thompson, one of Liz’s neighbors and possibly the most annoying boy on the planet, laughing hysterically at our dripping-wet state.  
⠀  
“What the hell, Flash?” cried Gwen, protecting her blonde curls beneath her hands.  
⠀  
I attempted to move out of the way, but my skates slipped on the wet pavement and skidded out from under me, sending me onto the ground with a thud. A short strip of skin scraped off my knee, leaving a red mark on the sidewalk.  
⠀  
Liz and Gwen both gasped, bending down to help me up as Flash calmed his laughter, dropping the hosepipe to the ground with a metallic thump, probably overcome with the fear that his harmless prank had caused me actual, legitimate physical harm, and that he’d most certainly be in trouble for this stunt. I wanted to jump to my feet, speed over and smack him for doing such an immature, obnoxious thing, but every time I tried to stand up, I slipped again, and the girls had to yank me up by my arms.  
⠀  
I was beyond embarrassed; I’m embarrassed all the time, about everything I do. I’m always so afraid what I’m doing is wrong, and it always feels like everyone else knows what to do and how to act, like they were given an instruction manual and I wasn’t. But now, I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was humiliated, mortified, my face turning the same red as my hair, growing hot as tears poured down my cheeks. I could feel my mascara stinging my eyes, and I’m sure I must’ve looked insane, slipping all over the pavement in my green and purple gown, makeup-streaked and teary-eyed.  
⠀  
“Hey, look, I’m sorry, I was just trying to have fun. Like, that’s the trick, you know? In Trick-or-Treat?” Flash wrung his hands, staring with wide eyes. Maybe if he really felt bad, he could’ve helped me up!  
⠀  
Finally, Liz and Gwen got me back on my feet. We wiped the water off ourselves, and perhaps it was lucky we were sopping wet, because the water hid my tears. God, I’m so pathetic, crying like a baby just because some stupid boy played a prank on me. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so...weak?  
⠀  
“You are such a dick, you know that, Flash?” Liz said, folding her arms, stepping in front of me.  
⠀  
“Listen, I’m sorry, just don’t...don’t tell my dad, okay?” he held his hands up, slowly backing away before disappearing into the shadowy brush.  
⠀  
If we stayed out in our wet, ruined costumes, we’d end up getting sick, the chill in the air rattling our bones and shaking us loose like leaves off the trees. Liz lead us all into her house and explained to her mom what happened. Mrs. Toomes said she’d wash (and try to salvage) our costumes, and in the meantime, we could all borrow something of Liz’s to wear. She lent me a lime green sweater and a pair of soft jeans, and they both hang off my body in odd ways. Liz is so much curvier than me; she already had beautiful full thighs and budding breasts (ugh, that word is so gross, but I can’t think of anything better). My body is too gangly, bony, pointy, like a skeleton. My face is too sharp; how could anyone ever want to kiss me if they’re afraid they’ll get cut on my cheeks? I hope, when I’m older, I can get plastic surgery to look better.  
⠀  
Still, I like wearing Liz’s clothes because they smell like her. She smells so sweet, like honey. Mrs. Toomes made us hot apple cider to warm us up, and we all curled up on the sofa and watched the ending of Halloween on TV, as our own Halloween came to its end. We barely got any candy, and we didn’t get to spend the rest of the night out, but I’m just thankful I got to spend time with Gwen and Liz, and they they didn’t make me go home. I don’t want to be alone in the manor on Halloween night.  
⠀  
Gwen slowly drifts off to sleep as another movie begins, Liz and I giggling as she snores. Gwen lay sprawled out on the living room mid-sectional, while Liz and I were wrapped up together beneath a heavy blanket.  
⠀  
“Hey,” Liz whispered, her sugary breath hot in the hollows of my neck. “I still have your present to give you.”  
⠀  
In the chaos of the night, I’d completely forgotten. We slipped out of our cocoon of blankets, careful not to wake Gwen, and snuck up to her bedroom. From her vanity table she handed me a small black gift box, topped with an orange bow.  
⠀  
Inside was a heart-shaped necklace, which opened to reveal the tiniest photo of the two of us, taken at a photo booth at the mall.  
⠀  
She swept back her hair to reveal her own matching locket, shining gunmetal against her bronze skin.  
⠀  
“So we can always be together,” she said, smiling.  
⠀  
I felt like I might cry again. I had hundreds of pieces of jewelry, real diamonds and gold and silver, and none of them were as beautiful, as valuable as this. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  
⠀  
I jumped forward, wrapping her in a hug.  
⠀  
“Oh my god, I love it. It’s so beautiful! I love it so much. Here, put it on me,” I said, turning around so she could fasten the clasp, looping the chain around my neck. I swept my auburn hair out of the way, felt her hands brush against my shoulders and neck.  
⠀  
I turned around, and she smiled at me, holding her own locket between two fingers. I wrapped my arms around her again and buried my face in her hair, so she couldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes.  
⠀  
I love Liz so much. My heart is swelled with love, like a balloon ready to be popped. I think I’d like to spend the rest of my life with Liz, if I could.


	3. strange young girls

_November 2nd, 2011_  
⠀  
I feel like I should tell you a little about Liz and Gwen, so you know who they are when I talk about them later. Gwen has shoulder-length silvery blonde hair that she ALWAYS wears pushed back with a black headband. Her favorite color is pink and she says one day she’s gonna dye her hair pink, but her dad won’t let her yet. Her dad is like, an important police officer or something. He’s nice. He tends to scare boys away from Gwen, which she says she doesn’t mind, because boys our age don’t really interest her much. She likes telling me how handsome my dad is, which is like, totally gross. I know she’s just doing it to get a rise out of me, but still– ew!  
⠀  
I think Gwen is attracted to danger. I think she desires something more exciting than her everyday suburbia. Being the daughter of a police officer, I think she’s been very sheltered, very protected from all the shadowy things out there, and because of that, she’s just drawn to them more. Gwen seems like a very old soul, I think, someone who has lived a long time and is fed up with playing safe.   
⠀  
Liz is my best friend in the entire world. I think she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. We met in second grade, when a boy was teasing me and yanking on my hair and she stood up for me and made him stop. She’s so effortlessly cool, not like me, who has to try so hard and just comes off as pathetic. She has long brunette hair and light brown skin, which never has any acne or freckles like mine. She has perfect full lips without even lining them, and she always smells like honey (it’s her shampoo). Her mom is sweet, and her dad has been nice the few times I’ve seen him. He’s rarely at home, always busy with work– he travels a lot.  
⠀  
When I think about Liz, I think of those paintings of the Virgin Mary in Catholic churches (I’ve never been to a church, but I’ve seen pictures). Those angels coming down from Heaven in a spill of golden light, pouring over you like a warm bath.  
⠀  
I wish I could be good like Liz, the kind of person that just makes everyone happy, that makes other people feel good. The kind of person that everyone loves.  
⠀  
Gwen, Liz and me all take gymnastics together, and we’re going to be cheerleaders once we reach high school. Liz moves with so much grace, flipping backwards and forwards, always landing on her feet, and even if she doesn’t, she just laughs and flops back on the mat, her hair stuck to her face with sweat, beautiful even then. I wish I could be as peaceful as her. When I mess up, I feel like everyone is staring straight at me, their eyes boring holes into me.  
⠀  
One time, I was practicing my cartwheels, and I twisted my ankle, splatting on my back, but not before smacking my head on a balance beam. I saw stars for what seemed like forever, everyone’s voices suddenly far off in the distance. I was physically okay, but the moment I was able to process what happened, I ran out of the gymnasium, into the locker room, wrapped my arms around myself and sobbed. It was a dry, heaving sob, the kind you only do when you’ve had all the air knocked out of you and you just want to catch your breath, you just want to feel real again. I’ve always been an easy crier, something I know my dad hates. I get it. I hate it too. I wish I could control it. But I just can’t.   
⠀  
I’m just now realizing that this, combined with my last entry, makes it sound like I fall down way more than I do. I promise I’m not really this clumsy. And this wasn’t even what I wanted to talk about! What did I want to talk about? Ugh. Who knows. I’m tired.  
⠀


	4. olivia’s new friend

_November 4th, 2011_  
⠀  
Olivia came over this evening to talk with my dad about important business stuff or whatever. They’re always talking about money and machines and chemicals and other boring stuff.  
⠀  
When she comes over, she’ll quietly say hi to me and wave, making her way through the foyer, clutching her scratchy tote bag, with all its buttons and patches. Olivia is always covered in different little trinkets, pins on her lab coat and scarves flowing from her throat. I guess some people might think of her as kinda odd. I guess she is kinda odd.  
⠀  
Anyways, often when Olivia comes over, I get to stay up later than usual, because she usually doesn’t leave till late, and I have the excuse that I just wanted to say goodbye before she goes home. Well, tonight, there was a knock on the door, which hadn’t happened before. No one else was around, so I got up to answer, which I guess I probably shouldn’t have done.  
⠀  
In our doorway was a very pretty brunette woman, around Olivia’s age, with thin wire-framed glasses framing large brown eyes.  
⠀  
“Hi! Is Olivia Octavius here? I’m her friend, I’m here to pick her up. Jeez, your house is like, really hard to find, and your driveway is super long.” She cleared her throat. “Um. Anyways. Is Olivia here?”  
⠀  
I nodded, staring up at this stranger who acted as if she already knew me.  
⠀  
“Yeah. She’s in the office, with my dad,” I said, not moving to let her in.  
⠀  
“Oh! You’re Norman’s daughter! I mean, duh, I knew that. Harriet, right?” She smiled, her hands in the pockets of her high-waisted jeans.   
⠀  
“Yeah. I go by Harri though,” I spun on my heels, gesturing for her to come in, and lead her into the hallway where my dads office was.  
⠀  
She looked around the house with wide eyes, gaze turned towards the ceilings, the floors, the walls.  
⠀  
“Wow, your house is gorgeous. I mean, I knew you were rich, but wow.” She stopped to admire one of the paintings in the hall.  
⠀  
“E. Osborn,” she read the signature at the bottom. “Who was that?”  
⠀  
“My mom. She was an artist. She’s dead now.”  
⠀  
“Oh,” said the woman, suddenly stiff and solemn. “I’m sorry.”  
⠀  
I shrugged and lead her to the office door, gently knocking, the sounds of papers shuffling and muffled conversations freezing in their tracks.  
⠀  
“Um, Daddy?” I said, my voice too quiet to be brave, but loud enough so he could hear. “There’s a lady here to pick up Dr. Octavius.”  
⠀  
The shuffle of feet, and the door unlocked. Olivia standing in the doorway, her frizzy hair straining against its scrunchie, glasses falling down her nose. My father in the background still focusing on something on his laptop.  
⠀  
“Hi, Liv!” the woman chirped, waving enthusiastically.  
⠀  
“May? What are you doing here?”  
⠀  
“I’m picking you up, remember?” May said, still smiling.  
⠀  
“I thought we agreed you’d text me when you got here.”  
⠀  
“Oh. My phone died,” she said, waving her blank cellphone and shrugging. “Sorry bout that. But I’m here now! So I’m gonna have to steal you away from Mr. Osborn so we can get dinner. That okay?” At this, she looked to my father, all of us turning to him.  
⠀  
He stopped whatever he was doing, looking up, his fingers still dusting over the keyboard. “Yes, of course, Ms....?”  
⠀  
“Reilly,” she interjected.  
⠀  
“Ms. Reilly. But, in the future, I hope to see more professionalism from not just Dr. Octavius– “ he looked at Olivia, who looked at her shoes. “But from her...friends and family as well. This is a home, yes, but at the time, it is also a place of business. Do you need a new phone charger? I’d be happy to supply one.”  
⠀  
“Oh,” May said, glancing down at her dead phone. “No, thanks, I have one, I just forgot it.”  
⠀  
“Try to remember it next time. Have a good night with Ms. Reilly, Dr. Octavius.” He nodded at Olivia, who smiled tightly and left the doorway, walking quickly down the hall, May Reilly trailing after her, my father quickly closing the office door, leaving me alone in the hallway. I never even got to say goodbye to Olivia.   
⠀  
I feel bad for her. Olivia, I mean. I wish Dad wasn’t so mean to her. Like, I know she works for him, and he’s her boss, but still. Why does he invite her over so much if he doesn’t even like her? Can’t he just email her like everyone else? I think one of the reasons she comes over so much is because she’s lonely. Her mother calls and texts her a lot, and she seems very rude and demanding. If I had a daughter, I’d never be rude to her. I’d love her just the way she is.  
⠀


	5. mom (part i)

_November 9th, 2011_  
⠀  
I haven’t seen Olivia since she last came over. Dad hasn’t mentioned her either. I’m really worried about her. Is she in trouble? Is her friend in trouble? Why was she so nervous? Why did Dad seem so...cold?  
⠀  
I hope she’s okay. I really like Olivia, but I guess I’ve mentioned that before. Something about her seems so familiar, you know? She’s like, the exact opposite of my dad. He’s always so stern and cold and perfect, like he’s not even a human. He’s my dad, I know, but sometimes I feel like I can’t even talk to him, like someone is forcing him to be my father and he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but here, in this house, with me.  
⠀  
My dad is like a museum of beautiful art, where you can’t touch anything, can’t take pictures, can’t even breathe in the wrong direction, and Olivia is like...a warm coffee shop where you know the owner, and they have really comfy chairs and a little stack of vintage books on the table and you can just sit there for hours reading or writing or whatever and no one is going to get mad at you or tell you you’re doing something wrong.  
⠀  
I don’t like to think about my mom much...she died giving birth to me. I’ve tried asking about her in the past, only for Daddy to dismiss me every time. But I think Olivia and my mom were a lot alike, from the little bit I know about her. She was an artist and Olivia is a scientist, and those are kinda like, the same but opposite, you know? Although I doubt Olivia was into all the spooky stuff my mom was into...the library is full of her old books of ghost stories and conspiracy theories. Daddy forbids me from looking at them, says they’re too scary, but I’ve snuck in there a few times and grabbed the books I could reach, smuggled them back to my room and read them by the light of my iPhone. It’s not so much because they interest me, but more because my mom left little notes in the margins of the books, leaving her random thoughts and underling lines she thought were particularly interesting. Whenever I come to an underlined part, I stop and read it over and over, wondering to myself, why did she find this special? Why did she like this part? Did we like the same things? Were we alike?  
⠀  
In every book she owned, somewhere on the first pages, was her name, so everyone knew who they belonged to. In the older books, it always said Emily Lyman (that was her last name before she married Dad). But in the newer books, she wrote her new name, Emily Osborn, or just E. Osborn, the same way she signed all her paintings.


	6. mom (part ii)

_November 10th, 2011_  
⠀  
I can’t sleep. I feel like I should talk a little more about my mom. For my own sake, more than anything, because I know so little about her, and I want to write down everything I can remember, so I don’t forget later.  
⠀  
Her name was Emily, obviously. She was an artist, a painter, who liked painting abstracts. Based off the paintings, I think her favorite color was purple. She wrote, too– I’ve found some of her old poems in her books. I taped one of them below, after tearing it out of one of her old journals:  
⠀  
𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦  
𝘈𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴  
𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦  
𝘈𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦  
𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦  
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦  
𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢,  
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴.  
⠀  
I’m guessing she wrote that about my dad...maybe when he proposed to her? Did he propose in the hedge maze? I can see it from my window, and honestly, it frightens me. I’m afraid if I go in, I won’t come out.   
⠀  
In the yard behind our house, the only patch not secluded by trees, besides the driveway and the house itself, is a large hedge maze that is weirdly overgrown. Not surprising, as I’ve never seen anyone trim it. At the center of the maze is a dried-up fountain that was at some point, maybe, filled with water. When I was around five, I was playing hide-and-seek with Liz in the yard, and I ran into the maze, thinking it would be the perfect hiding place. I guess it was, because it wasn’t until after the sun had set that someone finally found me, wandering through the brush, shivering with frost bite, because it was early December and I definitely wasn’t dressed to go outdoors.  
⠀  
I guess my mom liked the maze, because she picked out the house. I know that much because I’ve heard other people talk about it. When her and Dad were newly married, and OsCorp was still growing, he told her he’d buy her the house of her dreams, whatever she wanted. As I mentioned earlier, my mom was very creative, and she seemed to have an interest in strange phenomenons and things no one could explain. I think she liked to be scared. I think she liked dark things.  
⠀  
Well, my mom discovered the house in an old library book (that she actually bought, and still remains in the our library) about haunted locations in New York. I guess she fell in love with the house, and showed it to my dad, and said this was the house she wanted. No one lived in it at the time, and I don’t know who owned it before, because the historical plaque with the name was removed, replaced with one that says 𝕺𝖘𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖗 in twisted letters (I tried to draw it...it’s a lot prettier in person).   
⠀  
I guess the house must’ve undergone some severe construction, since before my parents purchased it, it was mostly abandoned. It was, technically, a historic landmark, probably because of its immense size, architecture and admittedly weird location, but hardly anyone cared about it. Who keeps up with all these old buildings, anyways? The government? Who stops them from falling in and collapsing around themselves?  
⠀  
As for the haunted part...I really don’t know. I don’t know if I believe in stuff like that. No one takes those people seriously, and I don’t want another reason for people to think I’m stupid. But my mom wasn’t stupid, was she? And she believed that stuff and more. But I have this weird feeling...that Dad doesn’t want me to be like my mom. Like Emily Lyman, the artist. The believer.  
⠀  
She has so many old books from like, the 80s, about ghosts and demons and conspiracy theories, plus old horror classics (Dracula, Frankenstein, the Jekyll and Hyde one...), and I tried reading some of Dracula once, but the way the characters talk is so weird and I can’t understand it. Maybe when I’m older? And why do all those characters keep diaries? Well, I guess I keep a diary...does everyone keep a diary, and they just don’t talk about it?  
⠀  
Anyways...sometimes I do think this house could be haunted. I hear weird noises, but I guess that’s just because the house is so old...and the whole place is always so cold...but it’s really big, so it’s hard to heat. I guess most “hauntings” are like that...stuff you could easily explain away if you think logically, but in the moment, when it’s happening, no matter how much of a skeptic you may be, you’re still frozen with fear at the thought that it could really be something monstrous.  
⠀  
I’ll have to ask Liz what she thinks. I need to know her opinion on the matter of ghosts before I decide what to believe.  
⠀


	7. ghost story

_November 11th, 2011_  
⠀  
I talked to Liz today. I mentioned the incident on Halloween, with Flash and the garden hose, and I said that next year, we should do something else besides Trick-or-Treating, something actually scary.  
⠀  
“Totally,” she said. “You know what we should do? Hang out in the woods by your place. They’re so creepy, maybe we could see some ghosts.” She waggled her fingers with her words, like a witch.  
⠀  
I giggled. “Yeah! You know, I heard my house might be haunted.” I drew out the word, like a moaning spirit, and she looked at me with wide eyes, full of excitement.  
⠀  
“Woah, really? That is so cool. I wish my house was haunted, it’s like, all modern and cozy and lame.”  
⠀  
(Note: I really like Liz’s house, and I don’t think she’d really like living somewhere spooky like my house.)  
⠀  
“Yeah, my house’s history is pretty messed-up,” I said, leaning towards her. I want to preface this next part by saying that everything I said after this was totally and completely made up. I don’t know anything about our houses history before my parents bought it, like I told you. I don’t know why I did this– I guess I wanted to...impress Liz? And scare her? Like how boys will take their girlfriends to scary movies so they’ll gasp and jump and cuddle up next to them. Like that. Or something.  
⠀  
“My great-grandfather, my dads dads dad, he like, totally killed his wife in that house. He hung her from the rafters above the grand staircase. And now, every Halloween night, when spirts and ghouls roam the Earth,” I leaned in, so close I could see myself in Liz’s eyes, so big and brown and electric. “She haunts the house in search of revenge!”  
⠀  
Liz squealed, jumping off the bench.  
⠀  
“Harri! Don’t do that!”  
⠀  
“What? I thought you wanted to be scared!”  
⠀  
We were both laughing, our breath forming little clouds in the chill air. Something about it was beautiful, us hidden in our own little corner of the playground, our own corner of the world, balancing ourselves on each other, my arms tangled around hers, cold Autumn air in our chests, making us alive and alert. Her breath mixing with mine. Like we shared something. But we didn’t. We didn’t.  
⠀  
What are we, I wonder? Scaring each other like this? What’s wrong with us, that makes us want to be terrified so badly?


	8. dirty thoughts

_November 13th, 2011_

I’ve been thinking about Liz a lot recently. Like, a lot a lot, ever since she gave me that necklace. I wear it everyday, but any time Daddy sees it, he always looks so...disappointed. Like I’ve answered incorrectly to a question he hasn’t asked, like I’ve failed to solve his riddle. I’ve started hiding it under my clothes, or keeping it in my purse and only putting it on when he’s not around.

I feel so confused, but more than that, I just feel ashamed. And I know I wouldn’t feel that way unless I actually had something to be ashamed about, unless I’d actually done something wrong.

I want to be good. I want to be pure and good and get rid of all these dirty thoughts. People call me perfect. The luckiest girl in the world, that’s what they say. The Osborn Princess. But if everyone knew about these things I think...if Liz and Gwen knew. If all those people who gave me presents at Daddy’s office knew...God, if Daddy knew, he’d probably kill me before having a heart attack, and then we’d both be dead, and that wouldn’t be good.

Me and him, we’re the only Osborns left in the world (except for Curt, my lizard. I consider him an honorary Osborn). Dad doesn’t have any siblings, both his parents, my grandparents, are dead. And Mom...she’s long gone. He always places such heavy emphasis on our family name, like it means something important. He talks about how, when I grow up, I’m going to have to continue the Osborn line and take over the company. But I don’t want to do that, and I don’t think he really wants me to either. But I’m all he’s got.

That’s why I know I could never tell him about this. This...thing. I feel it stirring inside my chest, no matter how hard I try to bury it. So I guess I’m going to write it here, because I have nowhere else to do so.

Sometimes, I catch myself thinking of Liz in these weird ways...it’s like I should be thinking of a boy, you know? I imagine taking her on dates, kissing her, holding her hand as we walk through the mall. There are these moments I share with her, like the other night on the playground, that I hold close to my heart, like a secret. Holding her chin as I show her my new pink lipgloss, catching a glimpse of her pretty brown skin when she changes during a sleepover, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, desperate to curl up next to her and lay my head on her shoulder. But I can’t. I know that. I could never tell her about all that stuff, she would be so disgusted. But it can’t hurt to dream, right? 

I remember last year, I was watching TV with my dad. He was on his phone, and I was sitting on the floor, staring up at the screen. There was a medicine commercial playing, and it showed two women holding hands, then leaning across a table, kissing gently. I’d never seen that before.

“Daddy,” I said, looking up at him, who seemed impossibly tall on the sofa above me. “Can girls marry other girls?”

He looked up from his phone, which he rarely did when I talked to him, looked down at me. He just looked confused.

“What?”

“Like, if a girl really loved another girl, could they get married? Like a bride and groom?”

He knit his eyebrows together, like this concept was new to him.

“Don’t be silly, Harriet. Of course not.” His gaze returned to his phone.

I’ve never known disappointment like I did then. But I don’t even know why I asked. I guess I already knew the answer.


	9. into the woods

_November 14th, 2011_

I’m lost. I went walking today. I needed to clear my head after what I wrote yesterday. Normally I’m able to shake off my deepest insecurities after I write them down, but this one stuck with me, like a gargoyle crouched on my back. Heavy and stone. Smiling at me.

After school, instead of going up to my room to do homework, I skittered away into the woods, my book bag still strapped around me, like a little adventurer. The wind billowed, blowing caramel leaves around my feet. 

I didn’t plan on going far, just a little ways until I felt better. I don’t know why I thought this would cheer me up. I can hear owls hooting, little creatures scampering across the pine needles, sticks snapping from behind me. The sun is going down, and soon it will be gone completely, and I don’t know where I am. I keep thinking I can see the house lights in the distance, but then I spin around and they’re gone.

I know that if I continue running around like an idiot, I’ll just get more lost. That’s why I’m writing this. I can use my phone for light, but signal is no good out here, so I can’t call anybody.

If I could call someone, would anyone pick up?

I’m sitting underneath a large pine tree, hiding from the wind, listening to the animals grow louder. I remember something from one of my mothers books, about how a quiet forest was a bad sign, because it meant a predator was approaching. But there are no predators here. That much I know.

It’s so cold, my coat isn’t keeping me warm. I feel like I did when I was five, lost in the hedge maze. Is this happening to me because I remembered that, because I wrote about it? Do bad things happen when I put them down on paper, when I make them real? God, that sounds so stupid...but I can’t help but worry. Sometime I feel like all my worries are surrounding me, wrapping around me like a cyclone, swallowing me whole and covering my mouth so I can’t say anything. I can’t do anything. I’ve become a monster of worry.

The trees offer little warmth. They’re always barren by Autumn. I think barren is an interesting word. It can mean something dead and lifeless, or it can mean a woman unable of having babies. I think that’s sad. What if, when I grow up, I’m unable to have babies? Does that make me dead? Does that make me useless? Is that all I’m good for? Letting a man...do that to me so I can carry on the family legacy?

And what if I don’t want to have babies? What if I just don’t want to get married? But Dad would never let that happen. I think he wants me to marry Flash Thompson, he’s always hinting that he wants us to hang out more. But I don’t like Flash. I don’t want to be his wife and have his little Thompson-Osborn babies, and train them to be the next CEO’s of OsCorp. Sometimes I hate OsCorp. Sometimes I wish it never existed. 

If my mother didn’t have children...if my mother didn’t have me...she probably would still be alive. I don’t want that to happen to me. I don’t want to die.

I don’t know why I went off on that. Something about these woods makes me feel strange, old things.

God, I’m crying now. I’m so stupid. It’s so cold out here. I wish I was back home, with my little lizard, who I have appropriately named Curt. I wish I was with Gwen and Liz. I wish my daddy would come out of the dark and wrap me in his arms, carrying me home, and whisper that he loves me. I can’t remember the last time he’s said he loves me. I can’t remember if he’s ever said it.

That’s stupid. Of course he’s said it, I’m just not remembering correctly. I’m so tired. I feel like I need to stay awake, or else I’ll never wake up, just dissolve into the forest floor, the vines and brambles growing around me until I vanish into the dirt, into nothing. I guess part of me wants to sleep forever, my eyes shut tight to the world, my heart closed off so nothing can hurt me.

It’s getting colder, and I’m afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so this is something i’ve been working on for awhile, but i didn’t plan on posting it to ao3 because my genderbend things usually don’t do well on here, but then i decided.....who gives a shit, because i’m proud of this and i want to share it.


End file.
